


The Lost City of Jyahen

by Vox (Akumeoi)



Category: No. 6 - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Developing Relationship, Gen, M/M, Quests, Steampunk, Wingfic, insect wing! Nezumi, mechanist! Shion, no6zine, orphan! Nezumi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:02:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22469824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akumeoi/pseuds/Vox
Summary: Shion is a young technological prodigy, attempting to secure a mechanist apprenticeship in the steampunk port city of Iron Quay. But everything changes when the orphan Nezumi falls through his skylight, reveals his amazing insectoid wings, and invites Shion to search with him for the legendary lost city of Jyahen.
Relationships: (it's kinda ambiguous although in my head they're totally dating), Nezumi & Shion (No. 6), Nezumi/Shion (No. 6)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 25
Collections: Myths and Legends of No. 6





	The Lost City of Jyahen

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2019 No. 6 Zine: _Myths and Legends of No. 6_  
>  If you'd like to see the illustration that accompanies this piece, head on over to [the No. 6 Zine's tumblr](no6zine.tumblr.com) to find out how to download the zine. I was on the mod team for this project, and I can assure you it's absolutely freaking gorgeous and well worth your trouble.
> 
> I SAID I'D WRITE A FIC WHERE NEZUMI HAS BEE WINGS ONE DAY AND I DIDDLY DARN WELL DID IT  
> and published it, no less!

Midnight, and Shion was at his desk, disassembling one of the household chronometers. In his little attic room above his mother’s bakery, far enough from the docks that their late-night clatter couldn’t reach him, desk lit only by a single oil lamp, Shion was ensconced in his own private world. In a few months, he would be assessed by the master mechanist Rou as a candidate for an apprenticeship. With his single mother dirt poor, and his own passion for mechanics, Shion _had_ to ace the assessment. He was determined to practise every possible minute for it.

The skylight overhead dropped a pale moonbeam across the wooden floorboards. Outside, the automated cathedral bell tolled out the time, but Shion didn’t hear it, lost to the feel of the metal pieces smoothly sliding apart under his hands.

With a deafening crash, the skylight imploded inwards as something huge fell into Shion’s room. Shion bolted upright, dropping the screwdriver and whirling around to see something large and alive lying prone on the ground amid glinting shards of glass. Shion drew back, reaching for the utility knife he kept in his desk, when he realised that the thing on his floor looked... human? Shion assessed: two arms, two legs. Small. A child like himself, then.

Albeit a child with six huge, glittering insectoid wings. Dripping blood from the glass shards into the wooden floorboards, and some kind of translucent liquid from the cuts to the wings.

“You’re hurt—let me help,” Shion said breathlessly.

The figure on the ground shifted into a crouch. The stranger had long hair, but if Shion wasn’t mistaken, he was male, despite his fine features and compelling grey eyes which gleamed in the low light. He tried to stand, faltered, and then drew back defensively against Shion’s bed. That was when Shion recognised him.

“Nezumi?” he exclaimed. Nezumi was one of the orphans who frequented his mother’s bakery, because she would give them the loaves that were too old to sell. Shion didn’t know what they ate at the orphanage, but obviously it wasn’t enough. “You escaped from the orphanage?”

Finally, Nezumi spoke in a low voice, his silver eyes flashing in the dark. “You better not tell anyone. If you do, I’ll kill you.”

Shion paused. “No, you won’t,” he said matter-of-factly.

“You don’t think I can do it?” Nezumi said, picking up one of the large pieces of glass on the floor and shakily getting to his feet.

“Put that down, you’ll hurt yourself!” Shion exclaimed. Nezumi didn’t move. “You could kill me, but you won’t,” Shion said assertively, then glared at Nezumi. “I’m going to get the healing supplies. Stay here and don’t move anymore.”

With that, he disappeared down the ladder to the main floor of the house. After retrieving the healing kit and grabbing a few of the night’s leftover pastries, he returned to his room to find Nezumi sitting in the middle of the floor, picking shards of glass out of his arms. His hands were shaking. Shion didn’t _think_ it was from blood loss, unless that fluid dripping from his wings was accelerating his symptoms. Possibly he was in shock. Either way, Shion was eager to get his hands on his patient.

“Let me help you,” he said, opening the leather pouch which contained the healing supplies. “Sit on my bed.”

“So bossy,” Nezumi murmured, but he staggered upright—out of the patch of broken glass on the floor, and onto the bed. Moving the light from the desk to the nightstand, Shion came over and started tending to Nezumi’s wounds. After making sure the glass was out of each one, he disinfected and bandaged them. Fortunately, most of the cuts were not too deep. Then, Shion reached the wings.

“How do I treat these?” he asked. “Your wings, I mean.”

Nezumi stiffened. “I don’t know,” he admitted. Shion took a deep breath, then nodded. He was no medical expert. All of the first aid he had administered so far had been taught to him by his mother in case of some kind of accident at the bakery or while working on a mechanical project. But he was smart. He could figure this out.

The wings were like nothing he had ever touched before. They were bordered on all sides with a silvery material that was rigid yet slightly flexible, and the insides were filled with a translucent green, shimmering material that was even lighter, yet strong. Shion was entranced. If only there were some way to replicate the amazing substances Nezumi’s wings were made of. What new avenues would be open to scientists and mechanists then?

Nezumi flinched when Shion touched his wings, but it seemed to be more out of surprise than pain. In the end, Shion simply cleaned all of the wounds, then watched attentively as the cuts began to scab over with a shimmering material similar in appearance to tree sap.

After Shion finished treating Nezumi’s wounds, Nezumi tore into the bread Shion had brought as if he hadn’t eaten in a week.

“How did you fall through the window?” Shion asked.

“First time flying,” Nezumi admitted. “Could’ve happened to anyone.”

“You don’t have anyone to teach you?” Shion said, momentarily forgetting that Nezumi lived in an orphanage. “What _are_ you, Nezumi?”

At that, Nezumi surged forward, grabbing Shion by the shoulders and pushing him down onto the bed.

“Don’t ask me questions,” Nezumi hissed. “What I am is none of your business. Understand?”

Shion looked up into Nezumi’s grey eyes. Emotion clouded them like grey storm clouds over a silver river, too complex for him to read. He sighed mournfully and said, “Fine. I won’t ask. But Nezumi... I think you’re really amazing.”

At this, Nezumi paused. His fingers loosened, until they were just lightly cradling Shion’s shoulders, warm. “You’re weird, whatever-your-name-is,” he said at last. “How do I get back to the orphanage from here?”

“My name’s Shion,” Shion said. “And I really won’t tell anyone about you being here. Or the wings, or anything. I’ll give you directions, but come back tomorrow, okay? I want to make sure you’re alright. And if you need to learn how to fly, maybe I can help you. I know a lot about aerodynamics.”

Nezumi’s mouth tightened. “I don’t need your help,” he said, then hesitated, withdrawing his hand completely and letting Shion sit up again. “But I’ll come back,” he said finally. “Only if you give me some more of that bread.”

⁂

“Nezumi!” Shion cried, bursting into his room. Karan had said he had a visitor, and who else could it have been? Over the past few months, Nezumi had become his best friend. “Nezumi, I got the apprenticeship!”

Shion shut the trapdoor over the ladder and turned to Nezumi, bouncing up and down with excitement. From the bed Nezumi watched him with cool grey eyes, posture stiff. “Congratulations,” Nezumi said. “I’m leaving the city.”

“What?” Shion exclaimed in dismay. “You can’t leave Iron Quay—aren’t you waiting for your grandmother to come back and get you?”

“It’s been two years. She’s not coming.”

“But where will you go?” Shion said, feeling lost. He loved Nezumi’s sly wit, his physical elegance, his intensity. Who else could he complain about the social ills of the city with, peruse literature, and enthuse about the voyages of the ships in the harbour with? Nezumi was like no one else he had ever known, and that wasn’t even touching on the wings.

Nezumi spoke with quiet intensity. “I’ll go to Jyahen.”

“The lost city of Jyahen?” Shion said, astonished. “That’s not a real place, Nezumi.” Jyahen was a legendary city that was supposedly filled with amazing technological and artistic marvels, a perfect social system, and knowledge from all over the world. It was said that the city had been built on a mountaintop, but one day it rose into the sky and had never been seen again. If it were real, Shion would’ve given anything to go there. But it was just a rumour, a fairy tale for children.

“Have you ever met someone with wings before?” Nezumi retorted. “According to your city’s textbooks, _I’m_ not real either. So where do _you_ think I come from?”

“Even if it were real, how would you find it?”

Nezumi sighed. “With this. My grandmother gave it to me before she left. She said it was from Jyahen.” He held up a metal disk about as wide as the palm of an adult man. Shion’s eyes widened. Nezumi opened the disk, and Shion saw that it was a compass—sort of. Its arrow seemed capable of pointing in three dimensions, not two, and there was another indicator of some kind set into the inside of the lid. “The snake for innovation, and the flower for precision,” Nezumi murmured, running his thumb over the etchings on the outside cover, as if echoing words he’d heard long ago.

Shion started. If the compass actually was from Jyahen, that was proof that the city existed. Or at least, that some city existed, that there was some place where there were others like Nezumi, if only he could get there.

“Do you know how to use it?” Shion asked.

For the first time since the conversation had begun, Nezumi faltered and was silent. Shion watched him rub his thumb over the outside of the compass once more, refusing to meet Shion’s gaze, his shoulders pulled up in a tense, unhappy set. Shion ached to be able to help. But his mother was too poor to adopt Nezumi, not that a single woman was likely to be allowed custody of a child that wasn’t her own anyway. But surely there must be something he could do.

“Nezumi,” he said slowly, “I’m going to become a mechanist.”

“Good for you. So?”

“So when I finish my apprenticeship, we can look for the city together. I can take the compass apart and figure out how it works. We can do research and chart a course that makes sense.”

“Apprenticeships last seven years. I can’t wait that long. They treat us like animals, Shion,” Nezumi snarled to bite back his tears.

“Maybe you can get a job—on the docks, or something. And if you make enough money you can stay here. Or at least save it until you’re old enough to live on your own.”

Nezumi scowled, but paused as if considering Shion’s words. His eyes flicked to Shion’s face, then back to the compass in his hands. Finally, he took a deep breath. “Promise me, Shion,” he said. “If I’m going to be waiting for you, I need you to give me your word I won’t be waiting for nothing.”

Without hesitation, Shion reached out and clasped Nezumi’s hand.

“When my apprenticeship is over, I’ll do everything in my power to help you find the lost city of Jyahen. We’ll find it together. I promise.”

Nezumi’s clasp on Shion’s hand tightened, and intense grey eyes bored into Shion’s own. And so the pact between them was made.

⁂

The forest was cool and shady, despite the shafts of sunlight that penetrated the canopy and illuminated patches of the undergrowth. Every day took them farther away from the world they knew, and closer to the promise-laden unknown. Their year-long journey had taken them through multiple towns, through verdant farmland and overgrown forests, across rivers and lakes, and now up, up into the mountains. For over a week they hadn’t had the slightest contact with another human being. They’d left a message for Karan at the last village they’d stopped at, but no living soul knew their current location, where they had been led by Nezumi’s grandmother’s compass.

Beside Shion, Nezumi rested on a boulder at the foot of a tall, sheer cliff. Their heavy packs rested on the ground beside them. Shion smiled at Nezumi—his beautiful silvery-grey eyes, his long dark hair tied up in a knot, his pale skin and fine elfin features. Since leaving the city, Nezumi had been more in his element than Shion had ever seen him.

Just then, a flash of gold above his head caught Shion’s attention. He held out his hand, and a clockwork butterfly landed on the back of his gauntlet. This butterfly and the utility gauntlet which housed it were the final project Shion had undertaken to complete his mechanist apprenticeship. They had sent it up the cliff to see if it was worth attempting to climb it, or if they should find a way around.

On its back the butterfly carried a circular glass lens, which captured an image of whatever Shion sent it to find. Shion peered into the butterfly’s lens and started. “Nezumi, you have to see this.”

“What, did it find another weird rock?” Nezumi sighed.

“Just look,” Shion said, holding up the lens. All around them, the forest was wild and untamed, underbrush at times so thick that it made forward progress very difficult. But imprinted in the glass was the image of a path, leading from the cliff’s edge into the forest. There was something hidden up there. Could this path lead them to Jyahen?

“The butterfly is worth its keep after all,” Nezumi said, loosening his grey cloak. “We’re going up there.” Shion watched as Nezumi bunched the lightweight fabric around his neck as if it were a scarf. From underneath the cloak, translucent wings unfolded.

“I’ll get our things,” Nezumi said, grabbing their packs and putting them on facing his chest. With a soft whir, his wings blurred into motion and his feet began to lift off the ground. Shion stared in adoration as Nezumi effortlessly flew far above his head, then disappeared over the top of the cliff for a moment, before reappearing again without the bags and descending back down to Shion.

Without hesitation Shion hopped into Nezumi’s arms, wrapping his legs around Nezumi’s waist and carefully positioning his arms to avoid obstructing Nezumi’s wings. With a little grunt of effort, Nezumi jumped into the air, wings beating furiously.

“Don’t move,” Nezumi managed to get out through gritted teeth. Tightening his hold, Shion did his best statue impression as Nezumi began to rise laboriously upward. Over Nezumi’s shoulder, Shion watched the treetops grow closer and closer, until they had passed through the canopy and were hanging in the air above the forest. Before him was a lush valley surrounded by mountains, a breathtakingly beautiful sight. Shion treasured little moments like this that gave him glimpses into what it was like to be Nezumi, to be able to fly.

At the top of the cliff, Nezumi released him, and Shion collapsed onto the grass in a heap. He hardly had time to catch his breath before Nezumi was grabbing his hand and helping him up. Shion looked around, and his breath caught in his throat.

There really was a path there leading off into the trees, just like the butterfly’s lens had shown. A hidden path in the middle of nowhere, accessible only by flying up a cliff. Nezumi and Shion exchanged a loaded gaze before retrieving their bags and starting off down the path.

As they walked, Shion began to notice that the little heaps of stone that they were passing looked like the ruins of old walls and structures. The further they went, the more stones there were, until it was clear that there had once been buildings here. There were so many, all clustered together, that Shion began to wonder if they had already found Jyahen but were a hundred years too late. The legend did state that the city had vanished. Maybe it had actually been destroyed.

“Do you think this is it? Are these the ruins of the city?” Shion asked.

“Let’s keep going. There has to be more,” Nezumi said grimly. Shion surmised that Nezumi wasn’t willing to entertain the idea that the legendary city they were looking for was just a pile of old rocks. Shion prayed it wasn’t true, for Nezumi’s sake even more than his own.

A mile or so down the path, they saw it. Overhead, amid the branches of an ancient tree, hung a circular stained-glass window, jewelled in rich colours. Shion’s breath caught in his throat—it bore the emblem of the snake and aster. Nezumi immediately shrugged out of his pack again and flew up to the height of the glass to look at it more closely. The sun behind the stained glass sent beams of coloured light streaming through Nezumi’s translucent wings, transforming them into living art.

“You were right,” Shion said thoughtfully. “There has to be more. Why would this window still look new if all the buildings around it were destroyed? Because it was added after that happened. Which means it was put here on purpose by someone who wanted others to find it.”

Nezumi’s gaze snapped back to Shion, and when he spoke, his voice was rough. “Let’s keep going. We’re close. I can feel it.”

Shion’s heart was pounding, and he could see from looking at Nezumi’s face that Nezumi, too, was apprehensive. They continued on down the path, Nezumi setting a gruelling pace. Neither of them wanted to stop or slow down. The path became steeper and steeper, the trees thinning out until they were walking through grasses and low scrub brush, up above the treeline. As they went higher, a white mist descended, slowly thickening until they could see no more than twenty feet in any direction.

Tightening his scarf, Nezumi popped the compass open again and they followed its pointing arrow in grim silence. The air was cool, and the light breeze swirled around them. Nezumi’s wings shivered.

Shion looked up over Nezumi’s shoulder, and saw a gleam of gold a few feet ahead. Just beyond the gold thing the ground completely dropped away into a valley of unknown depth, shrouded in fog. Instinctively, Shion grabbed Nezumi’s arm.

“Nezumi, stop! Look, it’s a dead end.”

With a frustrated snarl Nezumi strode forward, snapping the compass shut with one hand and closing the last few steps to the gold object. It turned out to be a metal post of about five feet in height and a handspan across. It had two notable features: a glass window near the top, and below that, a circular golden divot about the size of the compass. Upon closer inspection, the sign of the snake and aster was carved into the divot.

“Another damn riddle,” Nezumi complained, aiming a frustrated kick at the side of the post. It gave a soft clang as his foot made contact, but the sound was smothered by the damp air. Meanwhile, Shion leaned in to examine the glass panel. There was some kind of illegible, yet beautifully-painted message written there. It occurred to Shion with a lurch that this could be the grave marker of Jyahen, but he kept his mouth shut and desperately hoped that it would turn out to be something different.

“You should put the compass in it,” Shion suggested, putting a calming hand on Nezumi’s shoulder. With a sigh, Nezumi pressed the compass into the divot.

There was a click. The compass locked into place and turned. There was a strange, deep thud beneath them, as if something buried in the earth below them had just unlocked. Then, a heavy grinding sound. Nervously, Shion took a step back away from the post, as did Nezumi. For some reason, he felt a little seasick. The mist seemed to move strangely in front of him.

Then he realised—“Nezumi. We’re moving.”

The very ground they were standing on was rising up, up into the air. Shion’s heart began to pound wildly. He and Nezumi exchanged a glance, and Shion saw his own feelings reflected in Nezumi’s face: hope, fear, anticipation. _Where are we going?_ he wanted to say, but he didn’t trust himself to speak. With fingers that were beginning to tremble, he took Nezumi’s hand.

For long minutes, they could see nothing but swirling white mists. It was impossible to say if the island they were on was moving by mechanical means or through some kind of incredible magic, although Shion guessed it was mechanical. Then, the mist began to clear.

Suddenly, they could see again. Shion gasped in shock. A city was laid out before them, a gleaming city of metal and stone.

All the legends were true. Jyahen was a city in the sky.

Completely overcome, Nezumi dropped to his knees. “ _Jyahen_ ,” he breathed. The air was filled with the sound of distant wings.

**Author's Note:**

> The lost city of Jyahen is supposed to be a sky-based version of the aquatic lost city of Atlantis. The name “Jyahen” comes from a bastardised pronounciation of the Japanese kanji for “snake” (蛇) and “petal” (片). My illustrator, Lev assisted with the worldbuilding. (Same end note can be found in the zine.)
> 
> This fic really could have stood to be 1,000 words longer to do a little more relationship building and wing exploring, but I had to fit the story into 5 pages in the printed zine. Alas. I know I'm not the only writer who wished for a bigger word count, but that's how it is with printed zines. Pages are expensive!
> 
> Comments always welcome!


End file.
